


Remedies

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Protective Steve Rogers, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Steve snores when he's sick, gets Sam sick, and ends up promising to make up for both.





	1. “I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I guess you can tell I have a new OTP when I start writing all the fluffy h/c for them...
> 
> Chapters written for [hurt/comfort sickfic drabble prompts](https://glimmerice.tumblr.com/post/146811952525/hurt-comfort-sickfic-drabble-prompts), with the prompt used as the chapter title.

Although it's only just past ten o'clock, Sam's already half-asleep when Steve gets home. He's stretched out on the sofa, watching nighttime ESPN reruns in his boxers, and wondering if he's already seen the twenty year old baseball game they're rebroadcasting. He can't remember who wins, so maybe not. 

Steve opens and closes the door quietly, locks it behind him, and drops down onto the sofa when Sam moves his feet. He unties his shoes and tugs them off, but leaves on his jacket. Exhaustion and frustration are all over his face, but, really, it's better than the dirt and blood and sweat either of them sometimes come home covered in. 

"Hey. I wanted to text you earlier, but my phone got smashed. Again." Steve sighs and looks at Sam. "Sorry I'm late." 

"Not your fault," Sam says. He nestles his feet in Steve's lap, taking a moment to bask in the warmth and to allow himself to feel the rush of relief that fills his chest whenever Steve comes home safe and whole. "What happened? You don't look too beat up." 

Steve nods his thanks and starts rubbing Sam's feet, too aimless to be an actual massage, but affectionate nonetheless. "Yeah, I'm okay, but, honestly, I'm not even sure. Tony needed me for backup, the technology thing kind of exploded, and ... my work phone got smashed. I got a new one though, right before I left, that's when I texted you." 

"I feel like there's a lot more to that story. The technology 'thing'?" Sam looks at Steve for a better explanation, but all he gets is another nod and Sam can tell he's not really up to explaining. 

Not that Sam would be able to process most of it anyway--he's tired enough that he could probably fall asleep right here, on the sofa, his feet in Steve's lap, Steve's hand rubbing up and down his leg. His back would hate him tomorrow, though, and even Steve couldn't manage a decent night's rest in his clothes on the sofa. 

They sit on the sofa, quiet, close, and warm for a few more minutes, however, until Steve peers at the television. "Who's winning?" 

"I don't even know, and I'm pretty sure I've already seen this game." A jaw-cracking yawn comes over Sam and gives himself a shake. "Let's go to sleep. You need a shower?" 

"Yeah, probably. You get in bed, though. You have that talk tomorrow, I know you want to be rested for that." 

Sam swings his legs off the sofa to stand and stretch, then pulls Steve into a tight hug when he stands up, too. When Steve leans into him and buries his face in Sam's shoulder, he hugs him closer and kisses Steve's neck. 

"Take a really fast, really hot shower, then come to bed, alright?" Sam presses his face into Steve's neck again and relief catches in his chest again. "Glad you're home." 

Steve nods. He holds on to Sam for another minute, then draws away and returns the tired smile Sam gives him. "Me, too." 

When Steve disappears into the bathroom, Sam shuts off the lights and the television, ignores the unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, and turns down the blankets on the bed. He reads for the ten minutes it takes Steve to finish, then turns off the lights in the bedroom, too, as soon as Steve settles in next to him. 

+

Sam wakes up what feels like minutes later but is probably at least an hour, disoriented, and blinks around the bedroom. His sleep had been peaceful, none of the recurring dreams that sometimes shake him awake, and there's nothing going on outside that he can hear.

Ah, yeah. Okay. That's why he's awake. 

Steve shifts next to him a little, makes a snuffly sort of sound in his sleep, and then starts snoring. Not loudly, but low and deep.

Sam gives Steve a nudge, and then a push, and pats him on the chest when Steve makes an annoyed sound. 

"Turn over," Sam says, "you're snoring." 

"What?" Steve's not awake, not really, but he manages to still sound annoyed. 

Sam shakes his head and slides an arm around Steve so he can push him onto his side. "Nothing. Go back to sleep." 

Steve snuffles again and coughs, but falls asleep quietly. Sam takes a few more minutes but follows him back to sleep soon enough. 

+

The process repeats itself a couple times throughout the night. The final time Sam checks his phone and lets out a sigh of tired frustration. It's about four in the morning, and while they both tend to get up early, that's too damn early to be awake. He's definitely awake, though. Awake enough to rub his eyes and give Steve a closer look. 

Sam gives Steve another push to wake him up and tell him to sleep on his side, but this time Sam's also awake enough to realize what's going on. 

Steve's usually a quiet sleeper; he'll hog the blankets if Sam lets him, and he'll wake up an hour earlier than he needs to most mornings to spoon himself up around Sam. 

He doesn't snore though. Not unless... 

Sam lets out a sigh and shakes his head. The idiot probably didn't even notice. He rubs Steve's chest and gives him a more careful nudge this time. His snoring has that low, congested sound to it that Sam's come to recognize despite it only happening once a year, maybe.

Steve wakes up more fully this time, too, but he looks at Sam blearily and coughs when he tries to breathe through his nose. 

"Hey... curl up with me, okay?" Sam wraps one arm around Steve's chest, his hand resting in the center, and presses his chest to Steve's back. 

"... woke y'up?" 

"S'fine," Sam says. 

"No? No, you hate it..." 

"Well, you snore like a freight train. Don't think anyone would enjoy that." 

Steve laughs, a hoarse, rough little laugh, and he nestles back into Sam's arms. "Sorry..." 

"Yeah, yeah, back to sleep." 

Steve doesn't fall asleep again so easily this time, and there's a handful of coughs and sniffles, but he dozes off eventually into a restless sleep.

Which means Sam does, too. He falls asleep when Steve's breathing evens out, and sleeps until his alarm goes off at six-thirty. Not needing to start at work until nine means he can stay in bed a little later, and Sam spends most of the next fifteen minutes dozing off against Steve and petting his stomach or chest when he coughs. 

He leaves Steve asleep in bed when he does get up, and makes sure to pull the blankets up over Steve's shoulders. 

Sam showers, gets dressed, and has his coffee and breakfast nearly finished when he hears a few loud, strong sneezes sound from the bedroom. 

Steve shuffles into the kitchen a few minutes later, still in the tee shirt and pajama pants he slept in. He looks pale, with shadows under his eyes, and he keeps rubbing his nose with a few tissues and coughing. He drops down next to Sam at the table and blinks at the toast and coffee and eggs. 

"I don't think I can do coffee--" Steve rasps, and looks down at the cup of tea Sam presses into his hands. "Oh. How did you know?"

"The better questions is: how did you not know? You slept awful last night." Sam makes Steve's got a good grip on the mug before he lets go and reaches up to rest his hand against Steve's forehead. "I'm going to need about twice as much coffee today." 

Steve gives Sam another groggy, confused look, then turns aside to cough against his shoulder. When he turns back, realization dawns on his face. "Oh, no, oh, Sam... I'm sorry. You have that roundtable talk today that you've been prepping for." He droops in his seat. "I'll sleep on the sofa tonight. I'm really sorry." 

"You might be sleeping on the sofa during the day, too, if you feel as bad as you look." Sam rubs Steve's backs when he snuffles and coughs at his tea. He already sounds like he's stuffed up and like he won't be sleeping any better tonight than he did last night. "But I might pick you up some mega-decongestants on my way home anyway."

Steve shakes his head, about to say he doesn't need them, probably, but ends up sneezing into the crook of his elbow. "Ugh. I wanted to go to your talk..." 

"You know how many opportunities there will be for you to do that? A lot." Sam keeps on rubbing Steve's back with one hand and picks his coffee up with the other. He's a little warm, but not too feverishly so, and Sam feels that same sense of relief he felt last night. "Multiple opportunities. I'm doing a conference next month, come to that." 

"I'll make this up to you, I promise." With his nose already pink and his eyes starting to get that watery, red-rimmed look to them, Steve looks smaller, more vulnerable. "Waking you up all night, and missing your talk." 

"Okay. You can spend your sick day at home planning that. I can text you suggestions. Dinner, back rub, blow job..." 

That gets Sam a laugh in reply, and Steve reaches for his tissues again when he has to cough and sniffle. "That last one's going to have to wait until I can breathe the right way again. I can get dinner today, though, and rub your back when you come home tonight." 

"I can wait for that last one." Sam stands to get himself another cup of coffee, and lets himself be drawn in against Steve's side for a hug instead of sitting back down at the table. 

It's true, Sam's definitely going to need at least another cup of coffee to make it through his work day, but knowing Steve will be home waiting for him at the end of it will help a lot, too.


	2. "Why don't you let someone else take care of you for a change."

"I've made three more phone calls and walked down to talk to the grant writers, so I think that half of that problem's solved." Sam drops a folder onto Jenna's desk and clears his throat. He winces a little at the pain, and tries not to think about the group session he's leading in two hours. 

Jenna looks up and nods, grateful. "Thanks. There's a person for you in your office." 

"A ... person?" Sam asks, then peers out his co-worker's door to his own half-open one. He recognizes the curve of the man's shoulders almost immediately. "Oh, that's a not a person, that's a boyfriend. You know Steve."

" _Everyone_ knows Steve Rogers," Jenna replies.

"Sure, that, but..." Sam pauses and cannot help but smile. Sure, everyone knows Steve Rogers, but down at the VA, he's just Steve, or sometimes Sam's boyfriend, and everyone really does know him. "He's here all the damn time, that's how you know him." 

"I think he wanted to surprise you. But... you don't look like you're in the mood for any more surprises today."

"This one's alright," Sam says. 

It's true, though, that Steve's around a lot, and recognizing it makes Sam want to rest a hand on his chest to cover the space at the center that feels as if it's filling with an inimitable warmth. Steve drops him off for work a few mornings a week and usually has a cup of coffee or tea in the staff room; he comes to lectures and talks and every fundraiser that Sam's ever mentioned. 

He's doesn't usually drop by in the middle of the day, though, even on afternoons he and Sam are meeting up for lunch.

So that's unexpected, but, god, Sam _needs_ this right now, to see Steve when his day can thus far has consisted of a seemingly endless phone conference, a half-dozen scheduling conflicts, and an oncoming head cold. Sam savors the moment before he walks into his office as long as he possibly can without looking suspicious. 

Steve's fiddling with the post-it notes, and he gets that distinct, focused frown-crease on his forehead as he examines the items on Sam's desk. Which, by the way, is a mess, and Steve's seen most of it before, but there are pictures of Sam's family, a newish one of Steve, and the pens Steve bought Sam because they looked "office appropriate." 

Sam smiles to himself and nudges the door open. 

"Hey." Of course, Sam ends up coughing at the same time, the horrible, dry cough that only makes his throat hurt about three times as much as it already does. 

Which makes Steve not only turn, but frown again and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Hey," he says, "I got you something." He nods at the table by Sam's desk. 

"You brought lunch with you?" Sam glances from Steve to a take-out bag that looks like it might have enough lunch for half of Sam's department. "Babe... Who are you feeding here?" 

"It's really cold outside, and it started raining, and I didn't want you to have to go out in that, not with a sore throat. C'mere," Steve says and draws Sam in closer. His arms loop around Sam's waist and he rubs one hand up and down Sam's back. He leans in to kiss Sam, then frowns when Sam draws back. "What? I got you sick, so it's okay. I can kiss you." 

"Everyone's been sick around here. This might not be your cold." 

Steve shrugs. "I'll risk it." He moves to shut Sam's office door, then leans back in close and brushes a soft kiss over his lips. "How're you feeling? You still have the headache?" 

"I'm okay. I'm _okay_ ," Sam repeats when Steve looks doubtful. He leans in to let Steve kiss him again and eases closer into the hug. "I'm going to feel awful tomorrow, though, aren't I?"

Steve laughs a little and hugs Sam a little more tightly. He feels so good, so warm and familiar and _good_ , that Sam lets out a sigh. Honestly, he's feeling pretty low today, but sighing and letting himself be close to his boyfriend is easier than coming out and saying it.

"Yeah, it's a pretty bad cold..." Steve keeps on rubbing his back and presses a kiss to Sam's hair. "That's not really an 'I'm okay' sort of sound." 

Sam shrugs, but rests his head against Steve's shoulder. "It's only a headache and sore throat now."

"And the way you're already coughing and sniffling? And how you probably have that all-over, run-down, definitely catching a head cold feeling? 

Sam finally nods and pulls away so he can scrub both hands over his face. Yesterday night's almost-headache and general fatigue have already morphed into a sore throat and cough, which was enough to tell Sam that he was coming down with something as soon as he woke up this morning. It's that scratchy feeling, a little too painful to be ticklish, right between his nose and throat, the one that doesn't get better when he has something hot to drink. 

Having something aside from coffee would probably help, but Sam's too used to his cup with breakfast and then another at work to give them up yet, even temporarily. He's never been a fan of hot tea, but he'll switch when the cold really starts getting to him. Steve had tried to give him some this morning, and he'd had half a cup with breakfast before he had to tell Steve he didn't feel awake enough with tea. 

Anyway, while he's at work, stuck in the phone conference time warp and then an attempt to untangle this month's schedule, the sore, itchy throat and the dull headache are background annoyances. With Steve here, however, it's hard not to fight off the sudden, strong desire to put his head down on his desk and close his eyes.

If he has the cold that Steve came down with a few days ago, the coughing, sneezing, and stuffy sinuses are looming in his near future. So, right, no putting his head down on the desk, not yet. 

The thought makes Sam dig the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a groan. He'll need to clear his schedule out, move some appointments and meetings around, so he can get as much done before he really needs a day off. Sam makes a move toward the computer, but pauses when Steve cups his palm at Sam's elbow. 

"Sam, c'mon, it's your lunch break, and I brought you soup. You can stop thinking about work for a half hour."

"Not if I need to take care of--"

"Why don’t you let someone else take care of you for a change? Well, not 'someone,' but me. Let me take care of you a little here during your lunch break." 

"Steve, you don't do anything 'a little.' You're the most..." Sam turns aside to sneeze into the crook of his elbow, then starts and keeps coughing until Steve sits him down and hands him something warm to drink. 

"I'm the most?" he asks, and gives a smile of approval when Sam continues to drink what turns out to be green tea with honey. 

"The most." Sam nods. 'The _most_ boyfriend I've ever had." 

Steve actually beams at the comment. He pulls his chair in closer to Sam's until he can put an arm around Sam's shoulders. 'That's not such a bad thing. You love it." 

"Yeah, sometimes." 

"You do." Steve leans in and kisses the side of Sam's head, then nuzzles against him warmly. "I got you soup and the noodle thing you like from the Asian fusion place that you won't eat at because it's too hipster." 

"It's the worst kind of hipster." 

"But the food's good?"

"The food's good." 

With that concession, Steve gets their lunch out. He gives Sam soup, and his noodles, and he hands him tissues from the box on Sam's desk when he starts sniffling in earnest. He tells Sam about his late morning run and the dogs he met, and how he has plans to have dinner ready when Sam gets home. 

"Please don't tell me you have grand plans for dinner." 

Steve thinks for a second, then smiles and ducks his head. "Leftovers, probably. I maybe got too much for lunch." 

"Maybe? You bought a buffet." 

"I wanted you to have choices." 

Sam shakes his head, but really, he's not going to hold this one against Steve. Sam plans on leaving all his work on his desk here at work, and not even thinking about it once he walks in the door of their apartment. They'll have leftovers for dinner, and he's going to chase his second bowl of soup with a dose of Nyquil and fall asleep on Steve before it's even nine o'clock tonight. 

Before he leaves, Steve gives Sam a kiss and rests his forehead against Sam's. "You sure you feel okay?" he asks, and pets Sam's chest through his button-up shirt. 

"I think I'll manage. I have had a cold before, you realize that, right?" He doesn't hold this against Steve, either, the worry and the uncertainty. And he doesn't hold it against himself, how he craves the warmth and attention Steve offers him. 

"I know, but... I got you sick, and I kept you up when I was sick, and I said I'd make it up to you, but I'm pretty sure giving you my cold doesn't count." 

Sam leans in to kiss the half-smile from Steve's lips. "You're not wrong about that. But I think everything else, the soup and the tissues and ... that, yeah," he adds when Steve rubs his chest. "That all counts."


End file.
